Deep in Your Mind
by Douglock
Summary: Some time before the Avengers vs X-Men event, Scott Summers visits a deep corner of his mind and revisits some of the issues of his life with the help of one of the most important persons of his life.


The first thought that came to his mind, although somewhat blurry and not entirely formed, was that he was in bed, waking up. But he soon realized he was standing, and that fact alone triggered years of training as an X-Man. "Have we been attacked?", he thought. "Am I outside? Did I black out?" No immediate memories came to help him answer those questions, and so Scott Summers slowly opened his eyes.

Something was not right. His conscious mind, still trying hard to cope with the strange sensation of feeling numb and standing firmly at the same time, took a little more than a second to notice that he was seeing colours. Not the usual red of the ruby-quartz lenses of his visor and glasses. Not the bright red-and-white he saw when his optic blasts raged uncontrollably. Not the opaque colours that showed up in his dreams from time to time, fragments of the time when he could look at things—and people—with naked eyes without destroying them. Yes, something was definitely wrong.

Instinctively, Scott closed his eyes. He knew the powerful blast would destroy everything around him, and still he wondered why he had seen colours for a brief moment and no red glow. He kept a defensive position, trying to become more aware of his surroundings. "What did I see?" He tried to bring back the glimpse of what he had seen before shutting his eyes. There was some sort of building to his left. A small one, because he had seen the sky to his left and in front of him. To the right.. woods? A dark mass of something that he thought might be trees. He was standing on grass, that was for sure. And he had the feeling that the whole thing was familiar.

Scott turned his head right, than left, trying to notice sounds. There were none. He cautiously groped for anything around him, turned back trying to reach out for something (or someone), but found nothing. "What the hell is going on?", he thought, while in the back of his mind (a bit more alert now) he started to analyse which one of his enemies could be doing that.

"It's okay", a soft, joyous voice said suddenly, not far from where Scott was. "You can open your eyes here."

The voice was of a female, and _very_ familiar. God, why was it so hard to think?

"Once again you brought us here, and once again your first reaction was to close your eyes and prepare to fight as if you were in danger", said the voice, and it sounded a little bit disappointed. "Since we both know that your responsibilities will never allow you to feel good in the world outside, I hope, at least, that one day you will feel safe here, Scott."

Halfway through the sentence, Scott Summers had a sinking feeling. But it wasn't until she pronounced his name that way, such a sweet way, that he was sure about who the woman was.

"Jean?"

No answer. He wasn't breathing now. He knew, deep down, that he should be expecting a punch or an energy blast of some sort, or even a sudden headache when his mental defences were attacked. But after that voice made itself heard, he felt calm. Aware, wishing it was true, but calm nonetheless.

"Jean, is that you?"

"Open your eyes and see for yourself." She sounded like she was teasing him.

His mind was working at full power now. He remained silent for a few seconds, then tilted his head up and slowly opened his eyelids. Again, no red. No blast. Just the soft blue of the sky, tinted here and there with the white of clouds.

Scott blinked and moved his eyes. How long since he had last looked at the sky like that? There was no wind, and the clouds remained unchanged, like on a painting. He slowly looked down, still a little afraid that the blast would come out anytime.

And there she was. Jean Grey, standing at some twenty meters away from him, with her red hair loose, her green eyes sparkling with life, and her smile, God, how he missed that smile. She was wearing a light green blouse that matched her eyes perfectly, and dark jeans. No X-Men uniforms, no Phoenix or Dark Phoenix glaring costumes, not a single thing that could make someone look at her and see more than an incredibly beautiful woman. Her face was radiant, and she seemed to be amused by his perplexity.

"Jean…" Scott was still uncertain; her name came out of his mouth in a whisper, as if he were afraid that she would vanish the moment he addressed her. "Jean… what… how can you… you are…"

"Dead", she said in a matter-of-fact way. "Yes, I am dead. But, come on, Scott, what kind of alpha-level mutant telepath I would be if I couldn't do a trick or two?"

He furrowed his brow, trying to understand what she meant.

"Where are we?" was Scott's next question.

"Look around and tell me yourself", said Jean.

There was indeed a building to his left; it was a shelter, one used for storing tools and where the children played from time to time, even though they were not supposed to. There were three windows, all closed at the moment, and the door had a massive lock. The slate roof looked almost new. There were a few sand bags piled up next to the shelter door, and the floor near it was dirty, as if construction o renovation was going on. To his right, Scott confirmed, were the trees. He remembered them now. The woods were not so big as they seemed from that distance, and Scott knew that because he had been there a few times, even after it had been prohibited. Everything was indeed very familiar.

"What am I doing here?", he asked no-one in particular. "This is…"

"The orphanage where you spent a few years after your parents' death", Jean finished for him. "You bring us here often. I like to think it has to do with the view."

"I bring us here? But this place was run by—"

Nathaniel Essex was suddenly to his right. He was standing there as if he had been there all the time.

"Sinister!", said Scott, instinctively raising his hands to where his visor should be. "Jean, watch out!"

"It's okay, Scott", she said. "You are safe here."

He looked at her for a moment, trying to understand, then back at Sinister. Essex was no longer there.

"What's going on here? Where are we?"

"You really don't remember, do you?", said Jean. Her smile got wider and she seemed to be having a lot of fun when she said, "Boy, did I do a good job here!"

Scott did not move, still not sure if he was really safe.

"Several years ago, as our enemies were getting bolder and using cleverer means than simple open conflict to achieve their goals, we decided to create a kind of vault in your mind", Jean explained. "The purpose was to isolate a part of your mind so that I could reach to you should you fall to a mental attack—such as mind control."

Jean slowly looked around for a second, and Scott did the same.

"So you built this?", he asked.

"Not exactly. It took me quite some time to figure out what to do because, as you know it yourself, the mind is a tricky place. Yours is no different. I had to be very careful because the isolated part of your mind should still be your mind, not a place created and controlled by me. I was unsure of how to do that, until that, after some experimentation, I used your own thoughts and memories to access the very essence of who you are, the deepest corners of your mind. And when I found a place that I considered far below your mind's most conscious levels, there I built out little space."

"But if I were attacked and my mind was hijacked by someone, wouldn't you be kept away? How could you access this.. portion of my mind?"

"That was the trickiest part", said Jean, frowning. "We agreed that this would be our last resource. If your mind was controlled by someone, I would try the usual stuff—overcoming mental barriers, fighting back whoever was doing this to you at the psychic level, even punching them in the face and rendering them unconscious if that helped. This place in your mind was to be activated only if all else failed, or if I deemed the situation desperate."

"Such as me killing the other X-Men?"

Jean looked down, eerily, before saying:

"Among other things."

Scott suddenly felt cold. He could not explain the feeling exactly, but if he were to try, he would say that it was as if he had touched his own corpse.

"So, as you see", Jean proceeded, "it was no fun at all. I wasn't toying with ideas or exploring hidden thoughts. It was much more serious and dangerous. So much so that the only way I found to make sure that I'd still be able to reach you—"

"—was to insert part of your own mind into mine."

Scott stared at Jean, not really believing he had said that and even less that it had felt so natural.

"You remembered it this time!", Jean said, smiling. "Yes, that's what I did. We're in a safe-box in your mind where a very little part of my conscious mind lives. I know it's cheesy, but you know how they say: 'part of me will always be in you?' Well, in this case it's not just poetry."

Scott was still staring at Jean. It was she, his wife, his love, his very first love, and she was alive. At least, in a certain way. Something in him wanted to protest and tell himself that he should be careful, that Jean could very well be a trap, but something else, much more powerful and beyond explanation, stated deep in his soul that Jean was real. And that she was telling the truth.

"Jean…", he managed to say with great difficulty.

"I know", she replied and smiled again, the most beautiful of all smiles on Earth.

"But why did you build this place like the orphanage?", Scott chose to ask among the hundred billion things he wanted to say to Jean. "And Sinister, why was he…"

"You have to blame yourself for that", Jean answered. "As I said, this still is your mind. I never know what it will look like each time we meet here. Sometimes it's your parents' place, sometimes it's the school in Westchester. At least once it was a place near where your grandparents lived in Alaska, and a few times it was the café in Greenwich Village where you, I, Bobby, Hank, and Warren used to meet. But the orphanage is a recurrent theme. It's the same regarding Sinister. You usually bring some company with you, at least until you feel at ease."

"Company?"

"I mean, mental projections", Jean explained. "Depending on how you feel when you first get here, your mind throws these projections around as a way of trying to release the feeling."

"And Essex is a recurring theme as well?"

"Whether you like it or not, he had great impact on your whole life. The first projection is usually him, Apocalypse, or…"

Jean fell silent and looked down. Scott searched her eyes, looking for the rest of the sentence.

"Who?", he asked.

Jean looked away as she answered in a low voice, "Cable."

Scott turned his eyes away from Jean and gazed into the horizon.

"Nathan…"

This time, the two of them fell silent for a few seconds. Scott kept looking at the sky for some time, as if he expected his son to materialize out of thin air. He then lowered his eyes and his head. Jean crossed her arms, hugging herself as if she were cold. Finally, she said:

"I am sorry, Scott. I am terribly sorry. I wish I could've been there with you, I wish I could've done something to—"

"It's weird", he put in. "For a moment, I had completely forgotten that Nathan is dead. It's like having a dream in which you do the most incredible things and only realize they were impossible after waking up."

"Your mind is isolated here", Jean said, still a little uncomfortable. "You bring only what you yourself want to bring, or what I bring. For that, I am sorry. I just wanted to try and comfort you a little now that it's all over."

Scott looked at Jean and smiled, but there was sadness on his face.

"I did think of you when Nathan died", he said. "First, I wanted you to be by my side. Nathan was a mystery to most people, someone whose soul could not be easily understood. I sometimes wondered if he understood himself and if he was at peace with whom he was. But you and I had a chance to see him before everything, before Apocalypse, before Tyler, before his X-Force… so I knew that only you could understand how I felt."

Jean tightened her arms around herself.

"Then I remembered that you, too, were gone. And so I just wished that somehow, wherever you two were… you could take care of each other."

Scott looked down again.

"And forgive me."

Jean suddenly looked up at him. She seemed surprised.

"Forgive you?", she asked. "Why?"

"Nathan was my son, Jean. I was responsible for him. I tried to save him from death and I ended up sending him to a terrible future where he became a violent, angry, bitter man. He never had the chance to a normal childhood. He was trained to become a soldier. I saved his life from a virus and condemned him to a path of violence, suffering, and death. A path without hope."

Scott looked at the sky again.

"And in the end he faced the destiny of all soldiers who are thrown into wars by others."

"You are being too harsh on yourself. As usual." Jean took a few steps and got closer to Scott. "You had no idea of what would happen to Nathan when you sent him to the future. None of us had any clue. All you were trying to do was save his life. Something any loving father would do. Can't you see that? You gave up your son to the unknown hoping that he could be spared. What happened to Nathan afterwards… nobody could know."

"Yes, but that so-called 'good intention' completely ruined his life."

"You cannot be blamed for what the future holds. It's insane", said Jean, and there was a little urgency in her voice. "Instead of deeming yourself responsible for everything that happens to everyone around you, maybe you should try a different approach. You sent Nathan to the future and you never expected to see him again. And it turns out that you saw him. Several times. Scott, you and I _raised_ your son. You thought you would never be able to teach him anything, but we were given a long time with him. You had the opportunity to be a father to your son."

"A father? I trained him. I spent those years preparing him."

"You taught him. No matter how hard you want to punish yourself for not being able to take Nathan for a bike ride in the park, you taught him what was needed for the life he would have to live. Cable became a bitter man, yes, but that was not your doing. And under all the anger and military tactics he showed everywhere he went, anyone could always see what you planted there. Discipline. Solidarity. Hope."

Scott turned his back on Jean and slowly stepped away. He then halted, and Jean heard him take a deep breath.

"I never wanted this for him", he said. "None of it. No technovirus. No war. No Apocalypse, no genocide, no ceaseless fighting. God, not even… not even a mutant gene, if that could keep him safe and by my side."

"I know", Jean said softly. "And Nathan did, too."

She came closer to him and gently placed her hand on his right arm. Her touch made Scott believe she was definitely real. At least as mental projections go.

"He's free now", she said. "Cry for him, mourn him, and cherish the good memories you have. But do not let guilt and responsibility consume you. Those have always been your fiercest enemies."

Scott turned back and looked deeply into Jean's eyes.

"I miss you", he said. "We all do."

"And I miss you all, too." She smiled, but once again her smile was sad.

Scott touched her arm. He wanted to hold her hands, but he did not dare. Part of him felt he did not deserve it, and the other part was still afraid that Jean would vanish if he tried.

"There've been some problems at the school", he told her. "Logan and I don't see eye to eye regarding almost everything. I mean, we almost never did but—"

"This time is different", Jean completed. "I know."

"You do? You mean…"

"What?"

"Did you… Logan… you two… did you do the same thing to him? I mean, did you also leave part of you in his head?"

Jean let go of her husband and took a step back. Then she turned her back on him.

"Scott", she snorted, "that's almost insulting."

He went after her, his arm reaching toward her.

"Jean", he called, realizing his mistake but retreating his hand before touching her as he had planned, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I just…"

"I know." She stopped and looked back at Scott. "Don't worry. You already know this because of everything I did while I lived, and also because I've already told you here numerous times after I died, but I'll say it again: you needn't worry about Logan and me. He was a very dear friend to me, nothing else."

"He didn't see you that way, for sure."

"That I cannot control. Nor could. Your suspicions and fears all come from the fact that you were always focusing on how he saw me. Only very rarely have you stopped and considered how I saw him. If you had done that, you'd see there was no reason to be afraid."

"And how did you see him?"

"As a troubled soul", Jean answered after a moment. There was grief in her voice. "Someone who desperately needed help and could not find it anywhere. Someone who lived daily in hell because he couldn't really trust anyone nor love anyone for fear of being betrayed and destroyed. For a long time, all Logan wanted was to die, Scott. Sometimes he still does, I believe. He once asked me to help him die. I think that was why I was driven to him. Not in the way you always feared, but psychologically. He is tormented all the time, by himself, by the things he did, by the things that were done to him. He feels tortured by the things he doesn't remember and even more tortured by the things he now does. He always chased the truth about his past, and now that he knows it, he wants to forget it again. He wants to escape but there's no escape for him. No wonder he acts the way he does."

"He's been into a lot, definitely. But he also never really wanted help."

"Oh, you have no idea how wrong you are, Mr Summers", Jean smiled as if she were teasing him. "Logan is not very eloquent, he definitely lets his claws speak for himself more often than he should. But apart from searching for answers, the only other thing that he's been trying to find is help."

"Then why is he such a—"

"What do you think he sees when he looks at you?", Jean retorted brusquely. "He sees a man who were parted from his family at a young age. Someone who was used as a tool by evil men, who saw his beloved girlfriend die (and had to assist in the process for the sake of mankind), who had to give up on his son. A man who was too young when he had to make hard choices and was given responsibility for his friends' lives. He sees a man that wished he could just relax and chill out with the others, but whose sense of responsibility and burden of leadership constantly cramped all possibility of normal socialisation. A man who had his heart and soul shattered several times, who had so many reasons to give up. He sees an equal."

Scott gaped at Jean.

"An equal?"

"But contrary to him", she continued, "you did not let all that get into the way. Contrary to him, you did not wake up after every punch taken from life willing to slice everyone who showed up in your way. You used that to feed the idea that you were doing the right thing, that you should not repay all evil done to you with rage and fury and vengeance. So that's what he always sees: a man who had so many reasons to be enraged and willing to let go of any control , but who's doing his best to keep his soul intact so that he can go on trying to achieve what he believes in. How do you think he feels every time your presence, your words, and your acts remind him that you two are very similar, but the way each of you chose to use your personal tragedies made you walk such different paths?"

She stopped for a moment, waiting for an answer that did not come. Scott was looking at her, and among other things, she saw recognition and relief in his eyes.

"And that, Mr Summers, is the reason why you didn't have to be afraid of Logan. I loved him for the friend he was and for the heavy burden he had to carry. I respected his pain and understood his suffering. I felt compassion for him. If you tried to be more open toward him, you would be able to see all that too."

Scott did not say a thing. He would never say that Logan and him were similar. All he could see in Wolverine was a man who was always fed up with everything and everyone around him; a man who thought that it was best to go to a cave and heal when in pain instead of seeking help among his friends; a man who did not respect anyone who would hesitate before pulling the trigger. The very careless way with which he led his life, always relying on the healing factor, was enough to make Scott despise him. Nonetheless, Jean had given him something to think about.

"Logan has and always will have a place among the X-Men", Scott finally said. "Time and again has he helped us, and we would've lost many battles if he were not with us. I admit and accept that. Actually, I already told him that. But now… he's gone, Jean. Again. He acted as if he were the only one that was suffering after all that happened recently, and he left, and it seems he'll have his own school now. Have you ever imagined Logan as a teacher?"

"I have", Jean answered. "Not with round glasses and bow tie and a case, but yes, I have. Have you?". Her eyes were fixed on Scott.

Scott sustained her look for a few seconds, but ended up looking away. She obviously knew him too well.

"I trusted him with… with something", Scott said. "I'm not sure how much you know about the world outside, but things… things are getting worse, Jean."

"I only know what you bring here or what I can access with my limited conscience. So no, I don't know how exactly things are outside your mind. I know you believe they're getting worse."

"They are. And… I don't know how to tell you this. I talked to Logan a few months ago and we decided… we thought we should be more active. Stop waiting until things happen so we can react, but taking things in our own hands."

"You're talking about the X-Force", Jean said. "Your X-Force."

"You… you know about it?"

"Yes."

"I… As I said, things are getting worse. Our numbers are going down every day. Kids have been killed. Logan and I, we realized we couldn't just sit and wait for the next attack. We had to do something to prevent as many deaths from happening as we could."

Scott realized he was justifying his actions to Jean. She did not say a word, but contemplated him with a look that mingled disappointment, worry, and sadness.

"You.. you understand that, don't you?", he asked her. "I always ask myself if you would. If you would approve it after all we've been through."

Jean looked down. She knew he wanted an answer. More than that: he needed one.

"You know I wouldn't", she said almost in a whisper. Then she looked up at him, "And if you mean that you feel betrayed by Logan now because you thought you two were getting along well while carrying on this X-Force thing, you should stop fooling yourself. You were just using him. You knew he was the only one who would do it, even if he didn't entirely agree with you. You're better than that, Scott. And so is Logan."

"I don't want to talk about Logan", he said, looking into the horizon. "Not now, not here while I'm with you."

Once again both of them fell silent. Scott felt Jean was not done talking about him, and suddenly he felt scared of what she could say.

"Scott", she started seemingly a little unsure. "You should be careful."

He looked back at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I think… I feel you are changing", Jean said, cautiously, "and I'm not sure that change is for the best."

Scott furrowed his brow.

"I know you've been through a lot recently. Professor X, M-Day, Kurt, Cable, the kids, all the pressure… I understand that at some point you just want to let go, to release all that. And I also know you've always been able to keep it to yourself, transform it, and use it for everybody's well-being. But now…"

Scott noticed Jean was nervous, unsure of how to proceed. "Now…?", he said, to encourage her.

"Now you're not really transforming it", Jean said looking deeply into his eyes. "It's anger and fear, and it's not dissipating. Instead, it's sort of boiling inside you and getting stronger."

"Stronger."

Jean nodded.

"Hate", she said carefully. "And desperation. You're losing faith, Scott. And without that, you're losing yourself. All you have done so far was to assure that mutants and humans could live together, in peace. You've put a lot of effort on that. But now it seems that this belief is cracking… it's getting thinner, weaker, and the other thoughts are getting stronger."

"What other thoughts?"

Jean hesitated.

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I'm not desperate, Jean. We are dying. There are so few mutants in the world now. You have no idea how hard it is to keep trying to locate them, prevent them from being used by others or getting killed. It's extenuating, it's—"

"I know, Scott. I know because I see it in you, I feel it when you come here. You're tired, but you keep going as if you had nothing left. It's consuming you, Scott. Please, you must listen to me. It's a dangerous path, and you may end up —"

"What? Crippled? Abandoned? Dead? All that has already happened to me, Jean, one way or another. I've been fighting for years for something, someone else's dream, and I don't know if it's worthy it anymore. Maybe it's only that: a dream."

"Scott—"

"But this", he continued,"this is real. This is something I can do. I can help our kin, I believe I can make our numbers strong again. I can restore hope to mutant kind, and continue from there."

"At all cost? You're drowning, Scott, and you haven't realized it yet. You still think you can swim back to shallow waters, but it's getting more and more difficult. I can feel it, and I want you to consider this. Please! Leave this matter in someone else's hands, at least for a while. Go somewhere, far from all this. Be with yourself, and maybe it'll be easier for you to see."

"Leave it in someone else's hands? You know me better than that, Jean. I'd never risk it all like that. If we get what we want, if mutants come back to this world, I'll know they're back because my team—my friends—trusted me to do the right thing and worked with me to accomplish our goal. If it all fails…"

Jean's eyes filled with tears.

"If it fails", Scott said, and he sounded tired, "then all will have been my responsibility."

Jean lowered her head. The tears did not roll, and she felt it was better that way.

"Listen", Scott said, "can't we just leave it all outside? You said this is a place where I can feel safe, but suddenly I feel threatened. It's like I'm going through some sort of weird therapy session."

"You're the one bringing those things, Scott. I'm just responding to them. As I said before, I hope one day you'll come here full of joy and without regrets. But you still are trying to carry the whole world on your shoulders."

Scott smiled.

"You're wonderful", he said. "Always were. I hope you know I couldn't have done much without you by my side."

It was Jean's turn to smile.

"I was the luckiest, happiest man on Earth. I had you for all those years and I knew how lucky I was. And now I have you here again. That's beyond my dreams. I don't even understand how I'm standing here instead of holding you in m—"

Scott stopped abruptly.

"What is it?", Jean asked.

"I don't even have the right to say that", Scott replied after a moment of silence. "I know that."

"Why do you feel that way?"

He turned his head and looked at her as if her question made no sense at all.

"You know why."

"Emma?"

Scott looked down, feeling embarrassed. He nodded.

"It still bothers you?"

"Bother me?", he looked back at her, not really believing she had said that. " _Bother_ me? I despise myself for it! Not one day goes by in which I don't think about… about what I did to you. About how much you probably suffered, how much I hurt you, how much you felt betrayed. I look myself in the mirror and sometimes I just wish my reflex could release the most powerful blast on me. It wouldn't be enough to make me feel in peace, but I'd deserve it. At least I would feel I'm somehow being punished for what I did to you."

"Scott, you must let that—"

"I can't even feel completely happy with Emma! I'll never do. Because what we did to you is always there, lurking behind every look we exchange, every smile she gives me, every time I touch her. Whenever I feel I'm happy I see you in my mind, and I know I have no right to be happy. I destroyed so many lives, even if I never intended to, and I hurt you, I broke your heart… you, my first love… my only true love…"

Scott covered his face with his hands, ashamed, fell to his knees, and wept. Jean looked down and allowed her former husband to release all the pain in his chest. She wanted to go to him and comfort him, but she knew that that was something she could not do.

"I'd take all back if I could", he said after calming himself down a little. "I would do everything differently. I'd never allow us to start creating that gap between us, I'd never think, ever again, that you'd always be by my side. I took that for granted and now I'm paying the price. I thought our love was stronger than everything and I was proved wrong. In a very brutal way."

"You must let it go, Scott. Things were not really working that well between us anymore. I, too, should've said something before it was too late. I noticed we were starting to fall apart, and I didn't say anything. Maybe I also thought we would be together forever. I don't know. All I know is that all that guilt will not help you find happiness."

Jean watched as the tears strolled down Scott's face. Finally, she approached him and knelt right beside him.

"What we had can never be replaced", she said. "You are with Emma now, but it doesn't mean your love for me wasn't real. You loved me, and I felt that love every single day of my life since we first met. I enjoyed being with you all those years. I loved being Mrs Jean Grey-Summers. And above all, I loved you."

Scott looked at her face. She was so beautiful that, for a moment, he lost himself in her green eyes, the way he did so many times in the past. But this time he knew he could not just enjoy the feeling of having his wife with him and think they would grow old together. She was there with him, but she was not truly his wife, nor would they be together forever.

A faint, sad smile lit his face.

"You were truly special", he managed to say. "All of us know that, but I was lucky enough to be honoured with your love. You're right. All we had can never be replaced or destroyed. It was—it _is_ —too solid, too pure to be discarded or forgotten."

Jean smiled. They hugged each other and stayed in each other's arms for a few seconds. Scott closed his eyes and wished he could carry that feeling with him, the sensation of his marvel girl holding him like that. He pressed her against him as if he wanted her to leave a mark on him.

"I know what you're trying to do", Jean said, and Scott noticed she was smiling. "But it won't work. My job here was pretty well done."

She got out of his embrace and stood up.

"What do you mean?", Scott asked as Jean helped him on to his feet.

"Well… it's obviously not the first time you come here."

Scott blinked a few times, trying to grasp her words. Suddenly, he noticed that it was getting difficult to think properly again.

"Right. You said that I sometimes bring us to Westchester or Alaska. You mentioned that Apocalypse and Cable also show up from time to time. And you even said something like, 'you remembered it this time', meaning that you're used to all this."

"That's right."

"And how come I have this weird feeling that I should also be used to it but am not?"

They started walking toward the field that lie to the south, past the building to the left. The sky was clear there.

"For all our little plan to work, this part of your mind would have to be isolated from the rest", Jean answered. "Forever. Otherwise, a skilled telepath could easily follow your memories and track me down here."

"So I won't remember any of this?", Scott asked, astonished. "Not our talk, not even the fact that part of you lives in me?"

They looked at each other for a moment.

"I'm sorry" was all Jean said.

Scott sighed.

"This is so unfair."

"I guess I'd feel the same if I were in your position. But I never thought of this as a place for secret encounters between us. It was mainly a defence strategy. If I had any idea of what the future held for us, I'd have brought a little bit more of me here. And I'd make sure that you felt safe every time you were here."

"I feel safe now."

"But also sad. And you're leaving."

"I never remember anything? Not even fragments, as if it was a dream?"

"No. Of course, the mind being as complex as it is, and since we're still in your mind, I believe some part of you at least suspects that something is out of place, so to speak. But you have no memories and keep no feelings of what happens here. I'd know if you did because, well, I basically only know what is going on in the outside world through the memories you bring when you come."

It was getting harder to transform thoughts into words, but Scott managed to ask:

"So you're saying you're incarcerated here?"

Jean giggled.

"You make it sound like I'm a prisoner. I like it here. It's your mind. It's you. When you're not here I have a lot of time to revisit our memories. It's my way of being with you."

"And… and I… I assume that we already talked about all this during my previous visits?"

"Yes. I hope one day you'll come here and be free from all the guilt, sadness, and sorrow you always bring. Not because I don't like to comfort you, but because then I'll know you're truly well. And then we'll just sit down, and cherish good memories, and laugh."

Scott smiled.

"Don't you ever get bored of hearing the same things from me over and over again? It must be pretty dull."

"If I were a living woman dealing with all the things a living woman needs to deal with, maybe. But I'm not, and all I can have from you are these short visits from time to time. I'd listen to you no matter what you said."

They stopped and looked at the sky. Scott noticed it was brighter.

"I miss you, Scott."

"I miss you, too, Jean."

"Come back whenever you want. You're most welcome here."

"I don't… don't want to leave."

"And I don't want you to leave. I love being able to look into your eyes."

Scott stirred in bed as he woke up, still barely conscious. He felt he wanted to hold on to something, a particular image or feeling, that was fading out in the back of his mind. He wasn't surprised. He almost never remembered any of his dreams. This was just another one to add to the count.

He lingered in bed, still feeling drowsy. Everything was quiet around him, except for the soft sound of Emma's breathing on her side of the bed. Judging by how calm it was, Scott guessed that she was still very much asleep. He slowly reached his arm to the bedside table and groped for his glasses.

After putting them on, Scott sat on the edge of the bed, blinking twice to drive away the sleep and to focus his sight. With his glasses on, everything looked red. After all these years, he was used to it, of course, but sometimes, like in quiet mornings like this one, he would love to see the blue of the sky and the green of grass.

The thought did not stay there long, though. Scott knew there was nothing he or anyone else could do. Weep about things he could not have was useless. There were greater things to be concerned about, and he had the survival of the mutant kind to keep him busy.

He left the bedroom trying to not make any noisy. He didn't want to disturb Emma, not only because she was sleeping so peacefully, but because Scott realized it was morning, all right, but still very early. There was not much light coming through the windows in the hall, and there was a chill in the air very characteristic of the early hours of autumn.

He went downstairs. Everything was quiet. Nobody was around; probably they were all still sleeping. He was heading to the kitchen to grab something to eat, but then he saw that the fireplace was still glowing with ember. He saw three empty wine glasses on the small table in front of the fireplace and guessed that someone had been up until late sharing stories. He had not heard anything, but he slept hard as a rock that night, which was uncommon. Anyway, it was nice to know that some people still could have some fun when they were not out there fighting to live. Scott realized that that was what made him get up so early. He wanted to enjoy the fact that it had been a while since they last had to go in a crazy hunt to save or rescue or find or stop or prevent whatever. He enjoyed waking up and wishing life could be always like this.

Scott looked at the dying fire. It was struggling to stay there, to keep on burning, like the dream he had had and which was now completely gone. Soon the fire would not be there anymore, gone like his dream. And Scott decided to sit down on the couch and watch it go. He got comfortable on the couch, put a cushion on his legs and realized that he was so very calm and relaxed that he could probably fall asleep again very easily if he wanted to.

But there was the dying fire. He did not want to let it go alone. He looked at the ember again.

And he thought of Jean Grey.


End file.
